


Room Assignments

by storyranger



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Periods, Sharing a Bed, Super 8 Hotel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-21 17:17:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8253934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storyranger/pseuds/storyranger
Summary: 1 room, 2 beds, 4 people. Who sleeps with who is only the beginning.





	1. Room Assignments

 

> **team man·ag·er** /tēm ˈmanijər/ _noun_ : an individual who administers and coordinates a group of individuals to perform a task, with the capability to identify problems and resolve conflicts within a team.

 

“This is fucking bullshit!” Shitty had never been one to mince words, especially when it came to hockey.

“It’s not just us. All the teams are getting their funding cut this semester.”

“I don’t care. Cut the banquet. Get us a crappier bus. We’re not going on playoff roadies without our fucking team manager.”

Lardo finished folding the last of the jerseys and straightened up, sighing. “Look, I don’t agree with this. I’m not exactly gentle about the fact that you boys would be lost without me. But I don’t make the budget. I just spend what I’m given.”

Shitty leaned back against the shelving unit and crossed his arms. “This sucks.”

“Yep. Now, are you just gonna stand around and whine, or are you gonna help me shelve these jerseys?” Lardo held up a neatly folded stack and pointed to the highest shelf. Shitty raised an eyebrow at her, then smirked and picked her up by her waist. Lardo squealed and dropped half the jerseys before depositing the rest in a messy heap on the shelf.

“Shits, let me down!” Lardo playfully slapped at him until he swung her back down, kissing her soundly on the mouth before releasing his grasp. She pulled him back in for a second kiss, then stepped away and crossed her arms.

“Better fold those jerseys quick, Shitty. I heard Bitty’s making crumble tonight.”

 

***

 

“So we’ve tried the Hampton, the Argos, the Fairview, the Courtyard, and those were all out,” confirmed Holster, already tapping away on his smartphone as Shitty crossed option after option off the chalkboard. After a moment, Holster added, “bro, try Best Western and Super 8, I messaged you links.”

Ranson typed a few lines, then groaned in frustration. “Bro, Excel’s telling me that Super 8 and Best Western are also out.”

“Then Quality Inn’s out too,” said Lardo, furiously scrolling through multiple travel websites, “their room deal is the same as Super 8 right now. When is Jack getting here?”

“Could we stay in the dorms?” asked Ransom.

“Nah bro,” replied Holster after a few more taps, “they don’t have a real reading week, there won’t be enough rooms free.”

“Could we just sleep on the fucking bus?” asked Shitty, throwing the chalk against the board in frustration. It snapped and bounced into the tray, showering Lardo’s hair with chalk dust.

“After a five hour drive to Ithaca with you bros? I’ll be surprised if I don’t have to get the bus fumigated after just to keep our deposit. And no, Ransom, we can’t just not stay overnight, because some idiot decided your game would start at 9:00am. With buffer for traffic and pit stops that plan has you all getting on the bus at 2:30am and then I imagine ends with you all having your asses handed to you by a home team who slept more than 3 hours the night before.” Lardo’s tone got more and more aggressive with each sentence.

“We could sleep on the bus,” Ransom offered, meekly.

“Look, I’d like to see you try to convince Coach Hall and Coach Murray to pit Samwell against Cornell while running on nothing but caffeine and bus dozing.” Lardo put her head against her keyboard, defeated. “This is hopeless.”

“Well, we’re not going on a road trip without the team manager, so it’s not allowed to be hopeless,” declared Jack Zimmerman as he swept into the room, a tray of coffee in one hand and his camera in the other. He surveyed the chalkboard and the spreadsheet on Ransom’s proffered laptop.

“Why do we need this many rooms? At four to a room, that doesn’t work out.”

“Hall and Murray need their own rooms based on athletics policy, and I’m by myself because gender segregation... wait, Rans, run the Super 8 with one less room.”

“Hang on… YES! Squeaks in just under the budget.” Holster and Ransom high-fived as Shitty slid down against the wall in relief, chalk dust imbedding itself into his jeans as he sat on the floor.

“Well, boys, there’s our answer,” declared Lardo.

“You sure you’re cool with that?” Jack asked, though he was pretty sure of the answer.

“I’m cool with any option that means you idiots don’t have to go without me. Hang on,” Lardo said, grabbing her phone off the desk as it began to vibrate madly. “Wow, Bitty just texted me and called dibs on sharing his bed with me. Apparently Chowder bites in his sleep?”

 

***

 

“ _Osti de marde!_ ” was Jack’s reaction when Lardo told him their weekend’s research work had been for nought. Lardo shrugged and wandered off to help Chowder get something from the equipment room.

“Translation?” asked Bitty as he sat down in his stall, unusually chipper for a Monday morning.

“Loosely, _this is fucking bullshit_ ,” said Shitty, “because apparently there’s some policy that says Lardo has to have her own room even if she requests not to.”

“Oh, _that_. Yeah, Lardo told me. I think that might not be a problem anymore.” Bitty pointed across the room, where Coach Murray had caught Lardo at the door to engage in the most awkward-looking conversation possible. Lardo turned around as Coach Murray mumbled a conclusion and disappeared back to the office.

Lardo whirled around, grinned, and high-fived Shitty.

“Does this mean you’re coming?” asked Jack.

“Bro, I’m coming!” declared Lardo.

“Bits, what did you do?!” asked Shitty, amazed.

 “I _may_ have wandered in with a pie and told him if Lardo wasn’t allowed to come on the roadie because of the rooming situation, then I clearly needed to be dropped from the roster because gracious, how on earth do you expect a college student to behave professionally on a road trip with his teammates if he could be _sexually attracted_ to them?” Bitty threw his head back with a hand across his forehead for emphasis.

“Bitty, did you… come out to Coach Hall… for me?”

“I guess I did, didn’t I?” Bitty grinned slowly, bashful. Lardo flung herself at him and grabbed him in a bear hug.

“I owe you one, Bits. I owe you.”

 

***

 

“So Dex says he’ll bunk with anyone but Nursey, and Ransom said he had to go with Holster. Shitty and Jack have to go together, and Chowder says he’ll go with anyone, and Wicks didn’t bother filling out the form so he’s lost the right to complain.” Lardo was cross-legged in a seat at the front of the bus, madly scribbling names into boxes she’d hastily drawn in her sketchpad. Every so often she’d scratch out a name and grunt angrily. Bitty sat next to her, sorting through Google form results and passing her a steady supply of chocolate-dipped shortbread fingers.

“You could put Nursey with Rans & Holster,” said Bitty.

“Sure, but who sleeps with Nursey?”

“Chowder?”

“I mean, Nursey does claim he’s chill with everything…” Lardo scribbled a little more, then ripped a fresh page out of the sketchbook and pulled out a pen. After a few minutes she leaned back, capped the pen, and swung up out of her seat, holding the paper aloft.

“Listen up! These are your room assignments. All complaints can be directed to my ass, which you may also kiss.” Lardo handed the list off and sat back down.

Bitty was already back to tweeting. He looked up without stopping and asked, “who are we with?”

“Shitty and Jack. Should be fun.”

“Sounds great,” squeaked Bitty with forced casualness. He turned quickly to stare out the window so Lardo wouldn’t see his internal meltdown. Lardo was already back to sketching ideas for portfolio pieces.

 

***

 

They’d checked in to the hotel and Lardo was doling out the room keys when she felt a familiar stab in her abdomen, announcing her period had arrived.

“Fuck,” she muttered as she handed Chowder his key.

“Sorry?” asked Chowder, frightened of crossing their fiery manager.

“Nothing.” Lardo smiled, teeth gritted. She estimated she had five minutes to find a washroom before visible evidence appeared on her brightly-coloured geometric tights. She tugged her black tank top down as far as she could and checked her key list. At this rate she’d have just enough time to get the keys distributed and bolt to the elevator to make it to their room-

“All right, listen up men! You too, Miss Duan. Coach Murray and I need to go over a few ground rules. First, absolutely no room service whatsoever. Second, everyone needs to be in their rooms, lights off, by half past midnight. Third …” Coach Hall showed no signs of stopping any time soon.

“ _Fuck shit_.” breathed Lardo, as the first wave of cramps washed over her.

 

***

 

Whenever more than a dozen college students get on a bus, someone will forget something they really needed. The Wellies were no exception, so Ransom and Holster decided leading an expedition to the nearest drugstore was in order so those in need could find supplies.

Bitty had lost his earplugs, and Jack wanted to make sure no one died on the way to the CVS, so as soon as bags were dumped and beds were claimed they joined the gang heading out to explore Ithaca. Lardo disappeared immediately to the bathroom. Shitty flopped on the bed and started channel surfing, idly running a hand through his flow.

“Hey Lardo, are you gonna be in there long? I think I need a shower.”

“Um… look, Shitty, can you grab me the pair of jeans out of my bag?”

“Lardo, are you okay?!”

This was _not_ how Lardo wanted their first conversation about Lucifer’s rain to go. Then again, a genders major should be able to handle this. May as well fess up.

“Yeah, just… my period’s a week early.”

“Oh. _Oh_. Okay. Do you need underwear too? And I have some Advil in my bag, and I can text Jack to bring back chocolate, is chocolate a real thing? Do you want chocolate?”

“Yeah, I want chocolate,” sighed Lardo, relieved. Not for the first time was she reminded she’d made a pretty good choice in partners. “But for now, I just need the pants.”

Shitty unzipped Lardo’s small suitcase and started rifling through, looking for underwear. Suddenly he heard the unmistakeable sound of puking coming from the bathroom, followed by cursing. Shitty tossed the jeans he’d just found aside, choosing instead a pair of duckling-patterned pyjama bottoms. He doubted she’d be leaving the room tonight.

“Lardo?!” He knocked on the door, concerned. Lardo opened it, grabbing the clothes and dressing at lightning speed.

“I’m fine. It happens sometimes. Cramps are weird, bro.” Her freshly-rinsed leggings were hanging from the shower rod. She brushed past him to flop on the bed, curling into herself and gritting her teeth.

 “Jesus fucking Christ. You’re hardcore,” said Shitty, with unmistakeable admiration. Shitty grabbed a bottle of water and the Advil out of his massive bag. He sat down on the bed next to her and began rubbing her back. She didn’t have the energy to protest how disgustingly cute this would look if Jack and Bitty walked in. Instead she sat up and grabbed the pills, downing multiple before chugging half the water and lying back down. They stayed like that for a long time, while an egotistical sports reporter blathered on about which teams would lose their playoff games. Finally, Lardo broke the silence.

“Can we watch the Project Runway marathon instead?” she asked quietly, knowing Shitty’s feelings on reality television.

Shitty wordlessly changed the channel, grabbed the Tupperware of shortbread off the desk, and turned off the lights. He snuggled around the tangle of limbs that was Lardo.

“I hope you realise you’re going to have to explain to me what the hell the difference is between these fabrics,” he commented, as the on-screen contestants dashed around Mood. Lardo smacked him affectionately and began sleepily listing the virtues of tulle versus chiffon for underskirts.

 

***

 

They found the CVS without a single person getting maimed or going missing, and Jack considered that an accomplishment with Holster in charge of navigation. The team dispersed to find their grails, and Jack was soon standing in front of a massive wall of chocolate options, completely lost.

“ _Tort à Dieu_ ,” he breathed, then grabbed the closest thing and whirled around to leave, almost knocking the passing Bitty flat on his back. “Shit, sorry Bitts,” Jack exclaimed, reaching out to steady him.

“Gracious, I shouldn’t have been walking so close. Don’t worry about me! So what has the great Jack Zimmerman so bothered he’s laying people out in the chocolate aisle?”

“Shitty texted me that Lardo wants chocolate.”

“Is that all?”

“He put like three exclamation points and a 911 at the end?” Jack handed Bitty his phone so he could see the text.

“Oh. Then you want these.” Bitty took the bag of M&M’s out of Jack’s hands and reached up on tiptoe, pointing at the expensive truffles on a shelf just out of his reach. Jack came up behind Bitty and grabbed them down, his shirt riding ever-so-slightly upwards over the waistband of his jeans. Bitty’s breath caught in his throat as he felt Jack’s chest brush against his shoulders.

“Are you sure? These seem awful expensive…” said Jack, still uncertain.

Bitty took a deep breath and rolled his eyes. _“Straight boys,”_ he thought, turning around. “Trust me,” he said, “this is what you want. Shitty will thank you for it.”

“If you say so. Did you want anything? You know, for the room? Chips or candy or something?” Jack was so adorable when he was trying to be social.

“I’m fine,” said Bitty, trying his best to keep his breathing even.

“Cool. We’ll get you some jerky then. You need more protein.” Jack grinned and strode off down the aisle, Bitty feigning protest all the way. Their items found, they paid and walked out into the chill night air.

“Wow,” said Bitty. A light dusting of snow was falling, sparkling in the soft light from the streetlamps.

“ _C’est belle_ ,” agreed Jack. “I wish I hadn’t left my camera in the room.” He smirked as Bitty pulled out his phone, snapping a quick picture to tweet later. “We still have a few hours before curfew. We could go for a walk if you wanted?”

“Oh, I mean, that sounds nice, but are you sure Jack? I don’t want to cut into your sleep time,” fussed Bitty, trying his hardest not to overthink what this walk could mean.

“Fresh air helps you sleep, Bitts. Come on, let’s try this direction.”

****

> **_eric bittle: help Jack wants to go for a walk instead of coming back with the chocolate what do I do? :(_ **
> 
> **_larissa duan: if i see you in this room and at least one hour has not past i swear to rowling i will tear your fucking nipple off bits do you hear me?_ **

****

They wandered for over an hour, before Jack pulled out his phone and tried to start navigating back to the hotel. It took a while and led to copious chirping on both sides, but eventually they found their way back. It was just barely before lights out, and they tread carefully lest they wake anyone. Jack swiped his key and turned on the lights, quickly surveying the scene within. Bottles of Advil and water lying on the floor along with an empty Tupperware. Crumbs strewn across the mattress. Tim Gunn announcing a contestant was screwed. And, of course, Lardo curled next to Shitty on what was supposed to be _his_ side of the bed. Jack flipped the lights off and softly stepped back outside.

“Bitty?” he bent and whispered into the shorter boy’s ear.

“Yes?” breathed back Bitty, his voice tight.

“Looks like I’m bunking with you.”

Bitty promptly died.

 

***

 

Okay, he didn’t really die. But he definitely stopped breathing for way longer then a person is supposed to. When he regained his composure, he snuck into the room quietly. Jack had turned on the lamp over his- no, _their_ bed, and stripped down to boxers. He was rummaging in his bag for pyjamas. Bitty snatched his neatly folded pyjamas and his toiletries kit out of his perfectly packed suitcase, dashing to the bathroom before the sight of a nearly-nude Zimmerman could give him palpitations. He rinsed his face with cold water, staring at himself in the mirror for a long moment.

“Eric Bittle, get it together,” he muttered at his reflection. It was just one night, and it was just bed-sharing. It didn’t matter that he’d never slept this close to a boy he actually had a crush on. Jack was a teammate, and he was _straight_ , and he was going to become a superstar. There were a million reasons Bitty needed to get over this crush, fast. But he had to sleep now, crush or no crush.

He pulled on his pyjamas and slipped back out of the bathroom. Jack had turned the TV off and was idly scrolling through emails on his phone. The glow from the screen highlighted his bone structure. Bitty slid into bed and rolled to face the wall, tense as a spring.

“Bitty, it’s okay. You can relax. I don’t bite like Chowder.”

Bitty mustered every fibre of his being and relaxed his shoulders. He secretly wished he’d brought his bunny. He could sleep without it, sure, but it certainly helped. And he needed all the help he could get right now.

“Do you want me to sleep on the floor?” Jack asked gently. Bitty was shocked. Nothing was more important to Jack then hockey, and here he was offering to compromise his rink performance for Bitty’s comfort.

“No, Jack. You can’t do that for me. I’m fine, really. I just… I guess I’m still just not used to sharing rooms.”

Jack reached over and squeezed his shoulder.

“We’ve got your back, Bitty. Don’t forget that.”

Bitty would have thanked him, but Jack was already asleep.

 

***

 

The light was just filtering through the crack in the curtains when Bitty woke up, immediately aware of a light pressure against his back and on his shoulder.

Was… was he getting spooned by _Jack Zimmerman_?

The real Jack Zimmerman was lying next to him, an arm around his shoulder, direct skin-to-skin contact where his pyjamas had ridden up his back in the night. This was bad. This was so bad. Bitty was forced to confront just how many times over the last month he’d daydreamed cuddles with a tall, handsome, blue-eyed boy who’d be just the right mix of hard and soft.

The reality was so much better than any of his daydreams and it was killing him inside to know that the moment Jack woke up, it would never happen again. Jack would never, _could_ _never_ want him back and he didn’t want to be enjoying this, he shouldn’t be enjoying this. If Jack was awake he would never have done this. He was taking advantage of Jack by lying here and letting it happen. But no matter how awful a person it made him, he couldn’t bring himself to get out of bed or roll away from Jack’s touch.

He lay there for an eternity, his mind drowning itself in a sea of guilt and joy and revulsion and excitement. Eventually, Jack stirred in his sleep, and the moment was over. Bitty snuck to the bathroom, turned on the water, and sat on the floor of the shower, sobbing.

 

***

 

Despite the early hour, Samwell managed to beat Cornell; Lardo was almost chipper by the time they got back on the bus. The bag of truffles was empty. These last two events were related. Lardo waited till everyone else was arguing about cockroaches again before she turned to Bitty and said in a low voice, “I’m so sorry about last night. I 100% didn’t mean to stick you with Zimmerman. I thought Shitty would move his dumb ass to the other bed before he fell asleep, or that you’d wake us up when you got back or something.”

“It’s okay. You looked like you needed each other.”

Lardo blushed hard and deflected quickly. “Where were you, anyways? Ransom and Holster definitely got back like an hour before you did.”

“Um, we went on a walk. Jack said it would help us sleep better or something. It was pretty… umm… _Ithaca_ is pretty,” finished Bitty, lamely. Lardo raised an eyebrow.

“Bitty, you know, if you ever need to talk, I have your back.”

“Gracious Lardo, no, there’s nothing going on between me and Jack.” Oh, how those words stung as they left his lips.

“Okay. I just wanted to put that out there. You know, as team manager, it’s my job to make sure everyone’s on their a-game at all times. Even if it means dealing with people’s feelings.”

Bitty squeezed her hand in silent thanks, then pulled out his phone and smirked as he hit a few keys and Lardo’s phone buzzed. Lardo pressed play on the harmless-looking Youtube link. Bitty waited until she was a few seconds in before asking mischievously, “speaking of feelings, on a scale of one to tears, Lardo, how would you rate your uterus’s response to cute animal videos?”

“Fuck you!” sniffled Lardo, resting her head against his shoulder so no one else would see any errant tears as they watched iPhone clips of baby ducklings learning to swim for the rest of the ride.

At the back of the bus, Jack stared out the window as Shitty and Ransom argued over whether Holster should become a brunette. He tried in vain to remember the morning, to remember the sound coming from the washroom, to remember what he could have possibly said or done wrong that would have made Bitty cry. ( _Was_ that crying? He couldn’t be sure. Certainly it sounded nothing like when Shitty cried, but there was definitely something more then just shower sounds coming from that bathroom. _)_ Jack had tried so goddamn hard to make him comfortable, to make amends for the previous season in his own awkward way. He couldn’t solve this on his own. He needed his best friend, and after Holster was pronounced better as a blond and everyone else was buried in headphones and poorly-buffered entertainment, he got him.

“Shitty?” he asked, his voice husky with nerves.

“Yeah Zimms?”

“Do you think Bitty will ever forgive me for treating him like shit last year?”

Shitty raised an eyebrow. This was a side of Zimmerman he’d only seen after midnight, and usually he was drunk. He weighed the question carefully before pronouncing judgement, somehow knowing this answer meant more than the questioner was willing to admit.

“Honestly Jack? I think he already has.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're playing Cornell on this roadie because I say they are.


	2. Loading Bay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By popular demand, we have an second chapter! Set immediately after Sophomore Year #14 - Post III - Last Game.

There was so much he should have done.

 

He should have spent more of his spare time practising.

He should have designed more plays.

He should have been more approachable.

He should have had them doing extra drills before roadies.

He should have let Ransom and Holster have more room to get creative.

He should have gotten his shit together before the draft.

He should have paid more attention to how Dex and Nursey were gelling.

He should have been kinder to the frogs last year.

He should have praised Chowder more often.

 

He should have been a better captain.

 

_He shouldn’t have told Bittle his first college goal was a lucky shot._

 

He’d played hard today, and he’d left _everything_ on the ice, but his anxiety was lying to him. His anxiety told him there was so much more he could have done to prevent this. His anxiety told him that this loss was all his fault, and that he didn’t deserve comfort from his team right now.

So he slipped into the hall and found a quiet, hidden place to cry.

And once he was crying because of his regrets, why not cry about Bitty, too, eh? What the hell, right? He’d fucked this up beyond belief, and it served him right to fall for the kid after doing everything in his power to ensure the kid hated him. Oh sure, Shitty _said_ Bitty had forgiven him, but no one was that generous. Besides, Shitty was always too kind to him, far kinder then he deserved. _Sacrament criss_ , there was prickly and there was asshole and then there was whatever the fuck he was. You can’t suddenly start being nice to someone and expect them to just forget all the times you were absolute shit to them.

And even his attempts at being nice ended horribly. What could he possibly have said on that walk last month to end with Bittle crying in the shower the next morning? He’d chirped him, sure, but Bitty was dishing it right back twice as hard. Was Bitty _that_ scared to be around him, that sharing a bed would make him cry? He thought things were improving, after the history project-baking and the shinny and the fist bumps and the gentle teasing.

Obviously he’d thought wrong.

He had to pull it together. It must have been at least a half hour. Someone was going to notice he’d been gone, and it would probably be Shitty, and he wasn’t ready for that conversation right now. His best friend was a great guy, but he didn’t fully understand that sometimes Jack didn’t _want_ to feel better. Sometimes it was just easier to let his anxiety rule him for a bit.

He heard footsteps approaching the loading bay. He should wipe his eyes, try to get his game face back on. If it got back to the scouts that he’d been spotted crying after a loss, his offers would probably evaporate. But he couldn’t be bothered; he was so _done_. It was probably just Shitty, anyway, and he didn’t need to pretend to be normal around Shitty.

He turned his head, a self-deprecating remark ready on his lips, evaporating when he saw who it was.

Bittle.

Their eyes locked, and Bitty’s gaze was so sympathetic, and he knew in a heartbeat he’d do anything to make himself someone worthy of that much compassion. He turned away, not caring anymore if Bitty saw him cry. He heard footsteps again, because of course Bitty was leaving, he’d clearly misread that expression, _Bitty got sent to check you were still in the building and now he’s going back to his friends because who wants to hang out with a pathetic piece of shit like you, Jack?_

He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, small and trembling. His breath caught in his throat as he realised he’d never seen Bitty initiate physical contact with anyone before.

_Maybe I don’t scare him. Maybe touching people scares him._

_Or maybe both scares him, you asshole._

Suddenly Bitty threw both arms around him, hugging him tightly, resting his head against Jack’s shoulder pads. Jack sat there, shocked, still crying, and Bitty was crying too, and as Jack’s crying tapered off, Bitty’s got stronger.

“I’m sorry.” Bitty whispered, trying and failing to stop the flow of tears. “We really tried to win for you. For- for our seniors, for you and Shitty.”

“It’s my fault. I should have done a better job as captain.”

“Gracious, Jack, you’re the best captain we could have asked for. Don’t you fret about this; it had nothing to do with you.”

“Bitty, I… I don’t… I can’t…” He was fumbling for words, he’d never been great at talking, he’d never needed to be great at talking. Just good enough to get through a press junket without swearing. He took a breath and thought for a long time before he tried again.

“Bitty, I’m sorry. For everything. I was a fucking bitch last year. You probably still hate me for all the shit I said.”

He could feel Bitty shaking his head against his shoulder.

“I don’t hate you, Jack. I promise.”

Jack closed his eyes, relief flooding through him, a relief so strong that even his anxiety couldn’t swallow it all.

 “I wish you could see how much people care about you, Jack.” The words had left Bitty’s mouth before he realised how heart-broken they made him sound.

Jack responded by finally returning Bitty’s hug. He buried his face in Bitty’s hair, his gross playoff beard rough against the angelic, faintly pie-scented blond fluff.

“I’d give anything for my dad to care as much about my sports as your dad does.” Bitty continued, so quiet Jack had to strain to hear him.

“What?”

“I mean, the minute it was clear I wasn’t gonna be a quarter back, he basically stopped paying attention to anything I did, on the ice or off. Your dad’s so proud of you, Jack. He’s so sweet.”

“Fuck your dad, Bitty. _We’r_ e proud of you. _I’m so proud of you_.” Bitty was hugging him like he was hanging on to Jack for dear life and how could he have taken this long to tell Bittle he was proud of him? How had he been so far up his own ass that he’d neglected such a simple thing?

“You’re gonna be great, Jack. Whatever team you pick. You’re gonna be great.”

Jack began to cry again, just a little bit.

“ _Merci, mon ami_. Thank you.”

 

Eventually Lardo found them, and gently told them it was time to get on the bus home. It was a long, silent, uncomfortable ride, and everyone was relieved to get back to Samwell. When they got to the Haus, Shitty decided he didn’t want Jack to be alone, and Lardo wanted to discretely stay over, and Bitty would do anything to make Lardo’s life easier, which is how they all ended up huddled on Jack Zimmerman’s bed, talking quietly and passing around a bottle of wine. Jack was still pretty emotional and Shitty had an arm slung around him, his other hand engaged with scratching Lardo’s head as she lay, brooding and catlike, in his lap. Bitty, spurred on by the wine and the low lighting and the emotionally charged atmosphere, gently leaned against Jack’s other side. He rested his head against Jack’s shoulder and Jack, without thinking about it, put his free arm around him and traced gentle patterns against his hip. They fell asleep like that, the four of them, a tangle of limbs and feelings and futures. In the morning, they’d face the breathless race that spring semester always devolved into.

 

Today, they’d done enough.


End file.
